


Kintsugi

by SouthernContinentSkies



Series: Vorkosigan-TOG Fusion-verse [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020), Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: (the hurt is offscreen), Andy Lives, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Fusion, Future Fic, Gen, Loyalty and Betrayal, Spaceships, Time Period: Night of Yuri Vorbarra's Massacre, Time Period: Yuri Vorbarra's Civil War, implied alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: In one blood-soaked night on Barrayar, all of Armsman Kazov’s oaths came crashing down around his ears. When the Old Guard picks him up again, it takes some time, and careful handling, to reinforce the cracks.
Series: Vorkosigan-TOG Fusion-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898542
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> Please know that I have no idea what a Vorkosigan-era spaceship suitable for a small mercenary group looks like (canon doesn’t really give us much), but for these purposes I’m definitely picturing the set of Firefly.

The day the last Cetagandan ship breaks orbit, three months to the day after the armistice, they say goodbye.

“You’re sure?” Nile asks, hand perennially outstretched. “You can always come find us later. We’ll be around.”

Kazov nods. “I’m sure. I have a place here. It may not be family, but it’s mine.”

She nods, and hugs him, and steps back.

The others come forward for their own goodbyes. Twenty years of fighting in the same direction has forged a bond, even if they only met sporadically.

“Береги себя,” Kazov says to Joe and Nicky - take care. “May your arrows always find their target.”

“And yours,” Nicky says, clasping his forearm with his own. “ _Ana ben_ , Ilya.” Joe merely nods, moving in for his own comrades’ embrace, before they retreat together to give the others room.

With Quynh, he exchanges a nod of mutual respect. With Booker, a squeeze to the shoulder and a wry grin.

“Steal a horse for me,” Andy says, her eyes sad but smiling.

Kazov smirks a bit. “How about I groom that one you stole from Vordarian, instead?” he asks. “They’re all Vorbarra horses now; I couldn’t steal them if I wanted to.”

“Yeah, you could,” Andy says. A twist of humor crosses her face, before fading into seriousness. “Nile’s right. You’re family. We’ll always take you back, if you want to come.”

“Thank you,” Kazov says, matching her tone. “I hope I won’t need the offer, but I appreciate it.”

They leave Kazov - Ilya - in the woods outside the clearing, away from the shuttle’s downdraft. His new uniform gleams at the edges, its silver piping stark against the black. It’s the last piece of him Andy sees, through the back viewport, as Nile and Joe settle into the pilots’ seats and the shuttle arcs up into the clear Barrayaran sky.

* * *

It’s thirteen years before they see him again.

They’re on the Hub-side Pol Station, refueling after a dip into the Whole for a job. They duck into a bar near the industrial docks for a break - and just like that, there he is, nursing a glass of something strong and toxic at a back table. His shiny uniform’s been replaced by a hard-worn coverall, and the expression on his face has been similarly worn down. When they crowd around him at the four-top, the only acknowledgement they get is a brief flicker of his eyes: once around the group, and then quickly back to his drink.

“What happened?” Andy asks.

Kazov’s mouth barely twitches, but they all understand the grimace he’s trying to sketch. “My death released me,” he says, and takes a gulp of his drink. “Briefly.”

His speech is the deliberate enunciation of the practiced drunk. Booker and Nile exchange glances, tight with concern.

“Do you want to come with us?” Andy asks, gently.

Kazov nods. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Booker tosses a credit chit onto the bar for his tab, and they bundle him off to the ship. A work group or a mercenary squad, picking up an errant friend or colleague; nothing to see here.

On the _Palatine Light_ , he falls into a bunk and sleeps for two days.

“Are we gonna ask?” Nile asks, sitting with the rest of them at the table in the mess. 

“I think we should,” Nicky says. “He’s obviously hurting. It’s not good to sit on something like that.”

“And if he doesn’t want to answer?”

“Then we leave it,” Quynh says, with finality.

There’s a pause.

“Yeah,” Andy says, rapping her coffee mug on the table as she comes to sit next to Quynh. “All we need to know is who might be looking for him. The rest is his own business, if he wants it that way.”

The station docking fees aren’t terrible at the moment, with no big freighters jockeying for space. Less expensive than burning fuel to leave and redock, anyway, or to hire a pilot they don’t need for a destination they don’t yet have. Kazov can take his time; thankfully, they can afford to give it to him.

* * *

The next day, Kazov is clearly awake, but he skulks in his room with no signs of emerging. Joe sets a tray of food outside his door, which eventually is taken and returned, empty. They count this a success.

The day after that, Nicky attempts first contact.

“Ilya,” he says, leaning solidly on the door. “You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, but take it from me - hiding won’t make you feel any better. We’ll be in the mess: down the hallway to your right.”

Then he retreats.

An hour later, when they’ve dug out a pack of someone’s cards and dug into a raucous game of Scopa - Nicky’s choice, this time - Kazov emerges. He lingers in the doorway, taking in the scene, hesitant to join it.

“Hungover?” Booker asks.

“No,” Kazov says, a low rumble starting at the base of his chest and not emerging much past it. “But I’d sort of like to be.”

“There’s coffee on the stove,” Joe says, mercilessly. “You should try that, instead. At least for awhile.”

Kazov’s eyes flick between the coffee pot, and the table full of unsworn siblings who insist on calling him family. He doesn’t move.

“You can’t kill yourself by alcohol poisoning any better than by gunshot,” Booker says, staring down at his cards. “Just so we’re clear.”

There’s a pause. 

Then Kazov huffs what might have been a laugh, once, and moves toward the coffee pot. “Yeah,” he says. “I figured, but it’s nice to know I’m right.”

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Andy says, once he’s slotted in with the rest of them, hunched over the bolted-down ship’s table between Booker and Joe. “Unless someone’s after you; we do need to know that.”

Kazov shakes his head. “They won’t bother,” he says. “They won’t have time, and anyway they’ll all assume I’m dead.”

A line forms on Andy’s brow. “All of them? What about your Emperor?”

Kazov laughs: a dark, frayed sound, dancing into hysteria at the edges. “Yuri’s mad. Whatever he says, no one will believe him. And the Prince - he’s either dead, or far too busy to bother about me. Him and his guards.” He seeks refuge in his coffee, though it doesn’t seem to provide much.

The others exchange glances.

“Mad?” Quynh asks, curious.

“Paranoid.” The bottom of Kazov’s mug hits the table with a clumsy knock. He leaves it there. “He thought his entire family was plotting against him, trying to kill him and steal the campstool for themselves.”

“And were they?”

Kazov stares down at his hands. “I don’t know. But - well. I tried not to wonder.”

Silence, for a moment.

“He sent me after the Prince,” Kazov continues, when no one else does. “He was the biggest threat, the biggest name; Father Frost with his weapons caches, once upon a time. We won the war with Dendarii hillmen and Prince Xav’s Winterfair gifts. And Yuri’s leadership, but I’m not sure he ever gave himself enough credit for that.” He clears his throat, swallows, continues more quietly. “There were five of us, two armsmen and three ImpSec - the biggest contingent, because we knew he had security. We killed their gate guards, and broke down their door, and there they were, and I was honorbound to follow my orders to kill them, or forswear my own soul.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I might have,” Kazov says, staring at the table. “But - they had a baby with them. Lord Padma, probably, Princess Sonia’s son. But she - Princess Jacqueline, Xav’s wife - she was by the fire, holding him in her lap, just like -” He stops, inhales sharply.

“The farmers outside Tanery,” Joe finishes. “With the three kids and the goats.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you left?” Nile asks.

“I got between the Price and the others,” Kazov says. “And they killed me, of course. And by the time I woke up, the Prince’s men had killed them.” He lets out a breath. “So. I can say that death released me, if I like - but the truth is, I betrayed my oath before then.”

“There are some things no one should ask of another,” Nicky says, after a moment. “Even if they have the power of a soul’s oath. Especially, perhaps, if they do.”

Kazov says nothing, staring into his mug. Finally, he looks up at Andy, an uncertain question on his face.

“If you’re looking for forgiveness, you’ll have to find it somewhere else,” Andy says, holding his gaze. “I stopped caring about politics a long time ago; I don’t think you did anything to forgive.”

“It’s not about politics,” Kazov says, brow furrowing with disquiet. “It’s about loyalty, and trust. How do you know I won’t do the same with you?”

“If I told you to shoot a baby, I hope you would,” Andy says bluntly. “Besides, we don’t work like that. We’re a family, not a military unit, even if we sometimes look like one. We work together because we want to; it’s not an obligation.”

“But what if I betray you?”

“They’ll take their space,” Booker says quietly. “And then they’ll take you back.”

Kazov looks at him. The others don’t. He nods, slowly, as though his head understands Booker’s words, but his heart doesn’t, yet.

“I was alone for a long time,” he says. “And then, when I thought I’d finally found something else…” He shakes his head. “Those were very empty years, before. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“You don’t have to,” Nile says firmly.

Down the table, Quynh meets his eyes, and nods.

The card game resumes after that, slowly ramping back up to its previous intensity and volume. Kazov declines to be dealt in, but he doesn’t move, either. He sits among them, nursing his coffee, letting the noise of the game and the camaraderie wash over him.

He doesn’t quite believe their welcome, yet, but in the glow of their warmth, and the casual embrace of the lived-in mess, he thinks he can see a way forward.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t speak Russian, and I definitely don’t speak Ligurian. The Internet informs me, to the best of its ability, that Kazov and Nicky’s exchange is a reasonable way to say goodbye to someone (”take care” and “be well” respectively), but if you know better, please let me know!
> 
> The ship’s name, the _Palatine Light_ , is a reference to the story of a ghost ship in 19th-century Rhode Island - I felt like _Flying Dutchman_ was too obvious.


End file.
